Forced creation-
How remarkably hideous.
Sometimes it’s worse than nothing at all.
Still, there is power in the act of creating.
An inherent beauty born from the abyss.

Sometimes I look at the sky and view it with eyes from the past.
It’s a trigger that lends my soul back to childhood.

I still burn my tongue sometimes, solely due to excitement.
I cannot hold back, and go for my hot chocolate, voracious, like an animal.

This place always reminded me of grandaddy-
I doubt the feeling will ever go away-
He haunts it peacefully.

It also reminds me of the virtue of creation.
The satisfying sadness of letting go.
Creation is tragic- 
It just must be, for I don’t know why else I would be conquered so wholly.

Tumultuous.

I used to be an aristocrat- an intellectual.
I have resorted to being a child again-
But it is satisfying.
Anything to conjure creation.